


The Howling of Wolves

by HunterLukas03



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, It is a zombie apocalypse, Mainly focused on Wilbur Soot, Multi, Some characters may act like they are dating but are not, Sorry for any OOC characters/moments, They are just close, depictions of gore and violence, sbi, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, zombie apocalypse AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29288721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterLukas03/pseuds/HunterLukas03
Summary: At exactly 11:59pm, December 31 2020, the world ended. No one remembers anything, only waking up to see their phones and reading the date January 1 2021, 11:59am. For one minute, everything was fine besides the obvious confusion, until the clock struck 12:00 and the world fell dark as though the sun had been stolen.All electricity died and no devices responded to their frantic owners, it lasted for two hours, and when the sun returned and life came back to their technology, it was only the beginning.As the light came, the unlucky ones started to change.Now half the population was either dead, or infected.The Blackout had brought upon them the apocalypse and the world was overrun with zombies.Now, the survivors have to fight just to live another day. Many of them have formed groups, but those who have not will find it much harder to be accepted into others. Zombies aren't the only enemies, humans can be just as worse.Everyone is an enemy of everyone.Too bad he really drew the short stick, now he's definitely an enemy, without question.Wilbur Soot woke up, but he wasn't human.Wilbur Soot was a Zombie.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Phil Watson & TommyInnit, Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade and TommyInit, Wilbur Soot & Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 13
Kudos: 93





	1. The Beginning of The End

He was dead.

_ Wilbur Soot was dead. _

His heart did not beat in his chest and his pulse did not thunder beneath his skin. He was cold, even when it was warm the chill seeped in and threatened to freeze him solid, yet he never shivered. His skin was pale, not white nor sickly but most definitely paler than what would be considered normal. His eyes had grey bags beneath them, giving him the appearance of someone who had not slept in a while--which he hasn't, zombies couldn't sleep.

Out of everything, though, the biggest give away was the clean hole that drove through where his heart lay, as though a blade pierced directly through his skin and withdrew again.

Yeah, Wilbur Soot was dead.

Wilbur Soot was a zombie. 

If there was one thing he hated more than anything else, even more than the annoying way zombies would bumble into him and make those horrible noises, maybe even worse than the hunger that clawed up from within, was going into the heart of  _ cities _ .

Because  _ cities _ meant people, and people didn't like other people. No. People didn't like zombies, and  _ he  _ was a zombie.

He tugged his brown jacket tighter around himself; he picked it up last week along with the dull yellow sweater he had on, he found it in an old mall crawling with zombies which proved convenient. Both were good for hiding his... wound; it didn't bleed, but neither did it really heal, it still had the messy, black stitches from a while back when he tried to close the wound on his own.

Currently, he was in another mall with significantly less zombies--good or bad, he didn't know yet--and he was walking through the aisles of a grocery store, filling his black backpack with anything from random snacks to more sustainable foods like soup and other. He didn't necessarily need the food, but it helped a great deal in staving off the hunger, especially meat; he refused to eat humans, to even  _ think  _ about eating humans. Maybe that was his problem, his hunger demanded he hunt humans but his morals demanded he not, torn between two natures yet being unable to truly choose either.

He had become a zombie, he had lost his memories, would it have really been so much to just lose everything else? It's not easy fighting against himself...

Wilbur shook his head and reached for a box of cereal before decidedly putting it back as he saw the expiration date. Yeah, he may be dead but no thanks, he wasn't going to eat stale cereal any time soon. In fact, what should he eat? He opened his backpack and counted five cans of soup, no meat since all of it here was well beyond good, a number of granola bars which seemed okay, a bag of sweet and sour candies, and then he had his notebook inside as well. Well, soup it was, then.

If the hunger gets too bad he could go hunting in the forest later, he's gotten better at it recently.

With his bag more or less stocked, he slings one strap over his shoulder and carries it as such, leaving the grocery store and entering into the hall of the mall. He wasn't cautious in the same way he expected other people likely were, since zombies just kind of ignored him and half of them wouldn't even care if he slapped them across the face... Well... There was one time they had outright attacked him even since becoming a zombie himself. Wilbur's hand idly drifts to rest over his left forearm.

He had tried to stop a horde of them from attacking a young boy; he learned that day that zombies wouldn't allow  _ anything  _ to stop them from hunting, from  _ feeding _ . Even each other, himself included. That was the last time he had made an effort to interact with people, one reason being the obvious whole 'he's a zombie' thing and the other being the fact that he wouldn't even be able to protect them reliably from other zombies, much less himself if he wasn't careful. It was better this way, on his own. At least that way he wouldn't hurt anyone.

Unlike the last mall he found, this mall had significantly less zombies on either floor--the mall had two floors, the main floor where he first entered had even less zombies than the second floor he was currently on. For what reasons, he didn't know, but it made him uneasy because it meant the possibility of there being humans here was much higher. He didn't want to run into any people, he just wanted to get his things from here and leave, grab his guitar from his little hideout in an apartment and either stay there or continue on his way. He didn't want anyone to bother him and he didn't want to bother anyone else.

Worse comes to worse, maybe he'd just live in the forest near a lake, or even go find the ocean, and hunt for food and when that dwindled he could just eat sand or something. He didn't need to eat, and maybe out there the hunger couldn't hurt anyone even if it took over. 

He sighed as he stepped over a bloody corpse, a zombie just based on the way the lower torso was horribly mangled and guts spilled out, and the way he could see its teeth through the side of its jaw. People tended to always aim for areas that would physically incapacitate a zombie, which made sense since they wouldn't stop until dead otherwise. Another thing about being a zombie was his sense of smell, it was heightened to the point that even as he walked away from the corpse he could still smell it distinctly, something he doubted other people could say. He didn't fully understand what it meant to be a zombie aside from the hunger, he seemed to be the only zombie who retained any human intelligence and his hunger wasn't as controlling as it seemed to be for other zombies. Or maybe it was just their lack of morals that allowed them to chase their hunger so relentlessly.

He didn't remember anything before waking up, whether that be a curse or a blessing, he wasn't sure. One thing he did find out, however, was that he was quite strong; he didn't think normal humans could turn over cars as easily as he did that one time when he was frustrated. Well, _normal_ people, some mutants could probably do that too. Oh. Another thing, most typical zombies never healed their wounds, or at least the common ones didn't, but his wounds seemed to heal faster and it was like any pain he felt was numbed slightly.

The only wound that never healed was the one in his chest.

He also had no plans to test the extent of his healing, he was fine as he is, thanks. 

He walked close to the wall and rounded the corner without care, only immediately stumbling back as he smacked into another zombie. The zombie looked at him with limp arms and a gaping mouth, its left eye was a sickly yellow that made him grimace. It made a groaning noise and shuffled slightly towards him.

"Sorry," he said and side stepped the zombie who turned sluggishly to follow, but it was to slow to match his pace as he kept walking. For humans, zombies must be terrifying, but most times they were just really annoying for him. If he bumped into one they always wanted to follow him; they often formed groups and made places harder to navigate (though they kept away people so that was okay), and the worst was when one of them in an area found a human. It was like other zombies shared some sort of hive mind because if a zombie found someone, other zombies within the area would--

Behind him, the zombie let out an inhuman screech and he turned to see it begin shambling quicker than it had before, scarily quick may he add, around the corner he came from.

They would all swarm the victim.

Another zombie that was ahead of him moments ago ran past him, following the direction where the other one went. He stared at where both zombies disappeared around the corner, his hand holding the strap of his backpack tightly.

He didn't like people, or maybe that wasn't right. He was afraid of people, and he was sure people would be afraid of him. He had no desire to fear for his life everyday by taking his chances around people, and he already learned his lesson trying to save someone. He didn't have anything to do with them.

He didn't have to help them. He didn't _want_ to help them. They would surely kill him the second they learned he was a zombie, or maybe they'd even kill him beforehand just to loot him. He had no reason whatsoever to help humans or get involved with them in _any_ way.

...

"FUCK!" He shouted as he rounded on his heel and ran after the two other zombie who had already made their way down the long hall of the mall, ignoring any broken shops on the side and instead moving as they honed in on a single target. He didn't think about where that target may be, he didn't need to as he started to catch up to them and found them crowding the entrance to a game store. "Idiot, idiot, fucking idiot!" He swore to himself as he approached, stopping behind the small horde that continued to bang relentlessly on the front of the store. He didn't have time to do anything before one of the zombie finally hit hard enough to shatter the display window, allowing the group of zombies to pour into the store and begin knocking into aisles as they searched for their prey.

How the hell had they even discovered this person? Or maybe one of them just reacted to some random sound. He could just leave...

He sighed deeply as he waited until they were all inside, slipping in quietly behind them; there was about ten or more zombies, enough that he didn't want to get in trouble with them. He may heal faster and his pain may be numbed a bit, but it still hurt and he still needed to heal and getting mauled by a bunch of other zombies didn't sound appealing. Right now they were hunting, so, zombie or not, they could react to him moving around and making noise like a human, it wouldn't be the first time.

He learned hunting zombies were much less passive and much more dangerous, it was when they were hunting that even he had to be more mindful.

Since the zombies were now bumping into things and tearing things down, the aisles were a mess and some of them were tipped over already, but he didn't see any sign of people. His stomach twisted suddenly and he hissed in pain, now was not the time for this; at the very least, the hunger quickly faded to the background. The zombies were beginning to calm, except for a couple who were still trying to hunt and one which had begun attacking another zombie, likely mistaking it for prey as it appeared to have no eyes from what he could see. Well, better for him... Still, there wasn't anyone here--

He looked at the closed door behind the counter.

... _Really?_

He walked quietly around the counter and stood in front of the door. He couldn't hear anything from inside, so if there was someone they were at least smart enough to stay quiet. He put his hand on the knob but didn't immediately open it. There were a few outcomes to this: he opens the door and gets shot in the head, he opens the door and gets stabbed, he opens the door and gets attacked in any way, he opens the door and the zombies immediately rush over, or...

He opens the door and actually saves this person.

He turned the knob and opened the door quickly and quietly, just enough for him to slip inside and slide it shut behind him and just in time to turn around and catch the wrist that drove a knife towards his face. He could see clearly in the dark room and the next thing he did was clamp his hand over the boy's mouth.

"Don't do anything, I'm here to help," Wilbur whispered and when the boy stayed still in response, he let go of his wrist and slowly pulled his hand away from his mouth.

The boy stared at him for what felt like very uncomfortable ages, though it did give him a moment to take in his appearance. He had blonde hair and he wore a clearly old, white shirt underneath a dull, red sweater, had a satchel at his side and he had a green bandana tied around his neck. The only weapon the boy had was his knife.

"What the _fuck?_ " The boy whispered harshly, perhaps with a little more volume than he would have liked. The boy waved his knife towards him and took a step back, eyeing him up and down. "Who the fuck are you? You trying to get stabbed? I'll stab ya--"

"Quiet," he hissed, "I'm trying to help you."

"Do I look like I need your help?"

He stared dumbfounded at the boy. This was a mistake.

" _Yes_ , yes you do," he sighed and ignored the way the boy rolled his eyes and made a face. This was not going to go well. At least he saved himself from getting stabbed, not that that luck would continue. "Look, just follow my lead, okay?"

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm a big man, I don't follow anyone's--"

"Just shut up. Can you run?"

"Duh."

"Okay, then when I open the door, run. Understand?" He raised an unimpressed brow when the boy didn't respond and he finally sighed out a 'yes'. Here he was going well out of his way trying to help someone, and it turns out to be a brat who seems like he'd rather not have him here. Well, he got into this so it was his fault; once they're out it shouldn't be a problem for him to leave... they just had to get out.

Despite his clear reluctance in listening, the boy did indeed follow him closer to the door and stayed behind him as he waited for Wilbur to open it. Turning the knob slowly, he opened the door and revealed the grotesque face of a zombie right in front of them. He acted instantly, grabbing it by its face and slamming it hard into the counter, cracking the zombie's skull and the counter top along with it; if the boy noticed he didn't say anything, in fact, he did better than Wilbur expected and was already moving to hop over the counter and jump out the display window. Wilbur followed suit, hopping over the counter and running behind the boy.

The zombie's inhuman screeching and growling could be heard behind them along with their hurried footsteps as they chased them down the hall opposite of where Wilbur had come from.

"Oohh shiiiitt!" The boy yelled as he looked behind them.

"Up on the right, go down the stairwell!"

This time, the boy didn't argue and when they got there he slammed the door open and ran down the stairs, Wilbur following suit. The zombies on the main floor shouldn't have reacted to the others, besides, there were next to no zombies on the main floor when he came in. They exited onto the main floor cautiously but found no zombies in sight down either stretch of corridor in front and to the left, only empty shops lining both sides. 

"We can go out through the emergency exit down there." Wilbur pointed to the left and they began jogging again; the faster they could get out of here, the better. Maybe his luck for the day wasn't completely out, because even though they ran the entire way to the door, not a single zombie popped out from anywhere and neither did the horde barrel down the stairs to follow them. He wasn't about to stick around though, and so he stepped outside without hesitation into a small parking lot behind the mall, which, too, was empty of shambling horrors.

He let out a deep breath and adjusted his backpack on his shoulder as he walked away, heading towards the alley next to the parking lot between two other buildings.

"Hey! Where are you going?" The boy called out. So reckless... 

"Somewhere else," he replied, not turning back. He helped the kid, that was all he had to do. They were safe for now and they could take care of themselves.

"You're just leaving?" The boy jogged so he could walk next to Wilbur.

"Yes," he said flatly.

"Nahhh." The boy stepped around and blocked him. Wilbur may have recoiled a bit, more as a reaction than anything, but the boy just smiled mischievously and extended his hand. "You can call me Big Man Tommy--"

"I'd rather not." He ignored the whining child and stared at the hand stretched towards him. This had... Well, he had never had a civil conversation with someone like this, much less be greeted in this way.

"Fine," Tommy drawled and rolled his eyes, motioning his hand closer for Wilbur to shake it. "Just Tommy then. Now tell me your name."

He looked up at the boy's blue eyes and back down at his hand. The hunger was there, he could feel it laying motionless deep within him, yet to stir but no doubt capable of waking. It wasn't a good idea, it really wasn't, it could come at any time, but...

Maybe just for a little while, just to make sure he finds somewhere safe to go.

He reached out slowly, and deciding he was too slow, Tommy closed the gap and grabbed Wilbur's hand, shaking it vigorously.

Maybe just for a little while, he wouldn't be alone.

"Wilbur, Wilbur Soot."


	2. Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Internal struggles may be the hardest, especially when against yourself.  
> If only this world didn't offer so many possibilities, maybe that way it would be easier to choose one and stay to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, an update so soon? Yeah, I finished my work and felt like writing so here ya go!  
> Thanks for reading, any feedback is always appreciated!

If there was one thing he learned very quickly, it was that Tommy did not shut up.

"So, what do you write in that journal, is it like a diary? Ayyy, do you write about girls in--"

"It's none of your business," he snapped as they kept walking through the streets. They had stopped at the small apartment Wilbur holed himself up in and picked up his guitar, to which Tommy pestered him for at least an hour about him wanting to hear Wilbur play.

"Oh, It's NoNe oF YoUR BuSiNEsS," Tommy mocked in a high-pitched voice before mumbling to himself, "I bet he writes about girls."

Thankfully, the streets weren't too bad closer to the city outskirts, and most hordes could be avoided through the use of alleys and sneaking between cars and old stores. The apartment took them about an hour and a half to get to from the mall, as the apartment was more towards the outskirts of the city. Now, they were heading west, opposite of the mall, there was a school he's been wanting to check out for a while now; it could be a decent place to use as a hideout.

"So, how did you survive the beginning?" Tommy asked, playing with his knife, something that Wilbur found made anxiety crawl across his skin, not that he'd mention it of course.

He thought about not answering, or just straight up telling Tommy to fuck off, but he just as quickly came to the realization that it would do literally nothing. It was best to just give some sort of answer, even if just to satiate some of Tommy's relentless curiosity.

"I was alone, I woke up in a storage room in the basement of a warehouse, kept myself alive from there." Not a lie, not a lie, just a few missing truths, that's all. 

"That's lame," Tommy scoffed and kicked an empty can, sending it skidding across the cracked concrete.

"Oh yeah? Then tell me about yourself, Tommy, you've been asking so many questions so maybe it's time you _answered_ some," Wilbur jabbed and met Tommy's stare with a glare of his own. 

"Well, for one, I'm not a loner like you are." At this, Wilbur actually perked up a bit; he was planning on just tuning most of it out in the first place. Tommy had companions? Did he still have them? Were they alive? The statement only brought more questions. "I have family, and they're waayy cooler than you are, but I'm the coolest, just so you know. We got separated but I'll find them soon, so I'm not worried!"

"Could you shout less?" Tommy stuck out his tongue at Wilbur's reply but changed to humming quietly to himself, giving Wilbur time to think more peacefully. So, Tommy wasn't actually alone like he'd previously thought. That was... that was good. If he could find Tommy's family then he could leave Tommy with them and be on his way. Thankfully, his hunger hadn't acted up as of yet, but it was only a matter of time, and the longer Tommy stayed with him the more dangerous it became.

"Oh, we also had a really cool hideout in the next city over, but some dumb group raided us and we had to move," Tommy scoffed.

"So, is your family in this city then?" He asked, adjusting the strap of his guitar on his back and choosing to hold his backpack to his chest with both hands rather than carrying it with one.

"Yeah, just gotta find 'em," Tommy said. "Oi, how old are you, Wil? I'm sixteen."

He thought for a moment. Oh. How old was he? He had a strong feeling he was in his twenties somewhere. "I'm twenty-four," he said, guessing but feeling strangely attached to the number.

"Well, you look like shit."

"Shut up," Wilbur huffed but couldn't find the energy to put any heat into his words--at the very least Tommy didn't find his appearance unnatural, he was wondering if that would be a problem. Instead, he focused his attention ahead at an intersection where a group of zombies were shuffling about. From here, he could see eight of them, but it was more than possible that there would be more. They could take another route, go down the road on the left further into the heart of the city, or they could try their luck at sneaking past. It was strange, he never had to think about zombies like this before, had he been alone he would have just kept walking as if they weren't there. He's never had to do it this way before, it'd be best if they--

"What are you waiting for? Let's go," Tommy whispered as they neared. Tommy gave him no time to argue, as Tommy had grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward to duck down behind a white truck. They could hear the zombie's faint groaning and the sound of their feet scuffing against the ground, they were close, but not close enough yet that the zombies could hear them whisper.

"What are you doing?" He whispered harshly and Tommy looked at him incredulously. 

"Uh, bein' stealthy? What were you gonna do? Walk up to them and say 'hi, pardon me'?" 

He was stunned for a moment, because that's pretty much what he did when he was alone, not that he'd ever admit to that for various reasons; at least he could say he wasn't always that polite. "Why don't we go another route?" He asked even as Tommy peaked around the corner and was already eyeing up the next car.

"Oh, so you're a pussy," Tommy grinned and it immediately fuelled Wilbur with enough rage to grab Tommy by the arm and quietly jog over to the crouch behind the next car. Tommy continued to grin even when Wilbur glared daggers at him, apparently feeling victorious over annoying Wilbur to the point of action. The loud groan of a zombie silenced both of them and they turned to see a shadow looming by the front of the car. Tommy turned to look at Wilbur and nodded before slowly making his way towards the zombie.

What? What the fuck did that nod mean? Aren't people supposed to avoid zombies? Not fucking walk right towards them!

Tommy sprung up and grabbed the zombie suddenly, pulling it closer and stabbing his knife through its head, catching its body so it fell silently against the ground. Tommy crouched back behind the car, the limp corpse lying near the front tire, and they both peaked over to look at the rest of the zombies. None of them were aware of one of their own being murdered silently. He hadn't thought about that, if they were killed before they could alert the others the problem was minimized. Then again, he didn't have to think about killing zombies much before.

...This felt weird. He was thinking about and contemplating the best and most efficient way to kill one of his own, a tactic that could quite literally be used against him at any time. Wow. 

Tommy got up and made his way around the corpse, running through the intersection with as much stealth as a running sixteen year old could possibly have, and Wilbur saw him duck into an alley to the left. Tommy didn't peak out to see if he was following, so Wilbur got up and jogged over; none of the zombies paid either of them any mind, though one may have looked his way only to completely ignore him.

"Oh, thought you were gonna die," Tommy said as Wilbur walked into the alley. "Oops." Tommy shrugged and they cautiously exited the alley after making sure none of the zombies were paying attention and made their way further into the city.

This little brat... Out of anyone he could have possibly saved and be roped into spending time with, it had to be _this_ little shit. Looks like his luck really did run out. 

It wasn't long until Tommy started babbling about some nonsense, anything from a topic revolving around the use of firecrackers and fireworks against zombies to a debate about the ethical side of stabbing in proclaimed 'self defence'.

The streets were now dark, the lamps and lights that once lit them long since either broken or dead. It was night, sometime after midnight if he had to guess since he did not have a watch. They had found a small convenience store on the corner of a block, they only found one zombie upon entering and Tommy was surprisingly quick to react in swiftly taking it out. Tommy was surprisingly reliable for a sixteen year old, or maybe all sixteen year olds were now accustomed to sneaking and killing like their lives depended on it, because they did. 

He looked over to where Tommy lay sleeping behind the counter, bundled in a few blankets they found earlier as they checked out a few different stores. He had his own blankets, but it didn't matter exactly how many he had. The cold never went away. So, now his blankets lay discarded by his side; he had to pretend to sleep until Tommy finally dozed off, apparently wary of his presence, not that he blamed him. 

It must be a hard world to trust in, hell, there wasn't a chance he trusted Tommy. He's already made a very potentially dangerous mistake.

He pulled out his journal from his bag and opened into the next few pages, after his last entry three days ago.

_June 12_

_I lost my second journal just the other day, so my previous entries over the months are now lost. I still keep a tally of the days that pass, so I won't lose track of the date. Not much has happened in the three days since my last entry, though I did have a zombie break into my apartment almost as soon as I finished writing last time, it scared the shit out of me. Today, I left my guitar home and went to the mall for food, as I've been more aware of the hunger as of late and it's been making me anxious. I don't know what to do about it, but I'll find a way._

_Against my better judgement, I ran to help someone who had alerted nearby zombies on the second floor and found a teenage boy named Tommy. He's really fucking annoying, he never stops talking and he obviously doesn't have any sense of personal questions or even space for that matter. He's completely reckless, earlier he kicked over an empty comic book aisle because he felt like it and we had to deal with three zombies who barged out from the back. He just does what he wants without thinking and without even bringing up his idea first, which is really annoying because Tommy has managed to rope me into it every single time and he's only known him for a day._

_I regret letting him tag along. Having someone with me has just made things harder, and my hunger feels so much more real now that there is a human with me, the very thing my hunger demands me to hunt. I have to avoid zombies and be so much more careful around them. It's only been a day and I'm already wanting to leave while he sleeps. I..._

Wilbur glances over to where Tommy lay, he could hear the sound of his slow, methodic breathing.

_But I can't. It's weird. I don't trust him, I don't even think I like him, not to mention being around him makes me nothing but anxious or annoyed or a horrible, gut twisting combination of both. He's annoying, and he can be pretty insensitive and definitely rude, but even when he does stupid, reckless things, he hasn't put me in direct harm. Every time, Tommy had handled everything calmly, if not for the shouting, and he consistently checked to make sure I was alright. I can't just leave him alone without saying anything. As much as I've disliked Tommy so far, it's been kind of nice having someone to talk to, having someone who would talk back with words and not threaten him._

_I've decided that I'll stay around until Tommy can find his family, but that's when I'll leave. I still plan to continue towards the school and I've mentioned it to Tommy, he doesn't seem opposed to it despite his whining about going to a school. I think we'll go there, scavenge for supplies along the way and hopefully find some good things in the school, maybe use it as a hideout for a little while. I'm not sure how we're going to find Tommy's family, but he said they would never leave without finding him and he doesn't seem worried at all, so it'll work out eventually._

_Maybe I'll start writing more often. I guess we'll see how the time goes and decide along the way. Don't lose yourself, don't let the hunger control you, you're more than that._

He closed his journal and slipped it back inside his bag, opting to grab a breakfast bar in its place. The convenience store they found was mostly empty, already raided by the looks of things. The lights no longer worked but Tommy had a flashlight they used to see, not that he needed it, Wilbur could see just fine in the dark but Tommy didn't need to know that. The windows were already boarded up by whoever came here first, all they had to do was replace a few which had fallen and push a shelf to block the door, using a decently sized rock to jam its wheels and keep it from moving.

His guitar lay at his side next to his backpack, he still wore the exact same clothing he did earlier. Despite his yellow sweater and his brown coat, the chill never ebbed away, instead always seeping deeper until he wanted nothing more than to stand in a fire and let the warmth consume him.

...

He wondered what the warmth felt like, as something more than the brief heat that licked at his palms when he lit his first campfire; he hasn't lit a fire since then, the horrible feeling of sickening anxiety and fear that flipped his stomach warded him from doing so. He couldn't remember, so he could only wonder if it had anything to do with the burn scar branding his right arm from the wrist nearly all the way up to his shoulder, hidden beneath his sweater and jacket.

Wilbur looked over at Tommy again, this time watching the rise and fall of the blankets intently. Tommy was only sixteen and while he was childish, it was frightening how quickly he could turn serious when faced with danger and even more frightening how easily he wielded his knife to kill. Wilbur may not remember, but he knew that Tommy was mature in a way someone his age shouldn't have to be. 

He didn't know why he cared, maybe it was because it was the first time he's talked to someone who didn't die in front of him, screaming in fear for help only to realize he couldn't, or threatened to kill him. Maybe the thought of separating from Tommy made him feel something he hasn't ever since waking because Tommy was the first person he saw smile and laugh at _him_ , with _him_. Sure, Tommy was annoying, but... he was human, and something about that made Wilbur want to stay close, to experience the humanity his heart wanted but his nature couldn't provide.

It came quickly and suddenly, clawing at his insides and forcing him to hunch forward and clutch his stomach in a feeble attempt to calm the hunger that rumbled inside him. "Shit," he hissed. Hunger wasn't exactly something that made him _hungry_ per say, more like an instinct that demanded a very specific thing from him that was intricately related to both his hunger, environment, and maybe even his feelings based on what he's learned so far. It could come randomly, or it could be a build up that he knew was coming, though it did often come when he was indeed hungry. Now, however, it came suddenly and without any warning, reacting to the presence of Tommy as his instincts curled and writhed inside him, whispering for him to hunt. To _kill_ Tommy and consume.

He stood up abruptly and shuffled over to the door, carefully moving the rock and rolling the shelf to the slide slowly so as to not make any noise. He only glanced briefly over the counter, just enough to see that Tommy was still asleep, before slipping outside and letting the door close quietly behind him. Luckily, it wasn't as bad as it could be and it felt more like a bad cramp than anything. He's had worse before, and he knew it would come at some point, he had that ominous feeling dragging him down all day after all. 

Still pressing a hand to his stomach, Wilbur walked over and sat on an old bench for what appeared to be a bus stop at some point. The streets were empty and dark, though Wilbur's eyes adjusted easily and he could see just as good as he would in daytime, maybe even better. It was quiet, too quiet; somehow the silence made the sickening feeling slithering underneath his skin worse, it made him feel like he was drowning as his own head became muffled. He drew his legs onto the bench with him and curled in on himself with his arms around his legs, dropping his head low and simply sitting in the suffocating loneliness of silence. 

It hurt, not in the same way physical pain did, but in a way he couldn't describe even if he tried. But he had to stay out here, if he went back in there now, he wasn't sure if he could keep sane; he had dealt with this before, far worse even, but this was the first time he's been near a human while it happened. He didn't want to know what would happen if he lost it, no, he knew what would happen, he just didn't want to think about it.

When the hunger finally began to fade, dulling down to nothing but a vague whisper that was easily pushed back and locked away to somewhere Wilbur hoped it would never crawl back from--he knew it would--Wilbur stood. He must have completely tuned out his surroundings, accustomed to having his guard down and being too preoccupied with himself to notice the three zombies who had made their way over, now walking aimlessly on the street. 

Wilbur walked towards them, stopping once he was within arms reach of one of them. It merely looked at him, its face pale and rotting and smears of blood staining its skin and torn clothes. It turned its head and began looking elsewhere and the other two zombies didn't even spare him a glance; to them, he was just another zombie.

He was one of them.

Wilbur sighed.

Right. He was a zombie. He wasn't human, he wasn't like Tommy.

He would never be human, even in the simplest of forms. 


	3. Mistake and Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things will not always go to plan, its quite often you may find things get out of hand.  
> Mistakes are inevitable, what matters is that you fix them, even if you don't know where to begin you may find that the other is willing to meet you in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy, late night update, let's go!  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter, it might be a bit messy not sure.  
> Thanks for reading!

He was busy softly plucking at his guitar when Tommy woke up, sitting up and stretching his arms high into the air. Tommy looked around and found Wilbur sitting in the corner.

"You're up already?" Tommy got up and shook his legs and hopped in place in an exaggerated manner, it was rather excessive in his opinion. "it's like--" Tommy glanced to the window through the cracks between the boards "--morning."

"Brilliant observation," he sighed and put down his guitar. His bag was open, his journal laying on the floor and his food piled next to it; he had two more breakfast bars last night and he was very close to having a can of soup. His limbs felt heavy, his eyes weighted like he wanted to fall asleep despite him knowing he couldn't; the sickness still lingered in his stomach, making him uneasy and anxious.

"A map?" Tommy walked over and picked up the rolled up paper next to Wilbur's feet, inspecting it carefully with a focused expression...

"Do you even know how to use a map?"

"Nah." Tommy shrugged. "Where'd you get it?"

"I've always had it," he lied; he spent some time exploring last night and found the map in someone's car, he only returned about an hour ago. He wasn't confident enough to return sooner, he needed the time to calm down more, to feel like he was the one in control. In total he'd found a map of the city, some more breakfast bars, a few pencils, and a--

"A YOYO!" Tommy exclaimed and pulled a blue and white yoyo from Wilbur's backpack.

"Tommy!" Wilbur stood and snatched his bag back but Tommy stepped out of reach before he could attempt to grab the yoyo as well, already securing it in his hand and watching as it dropped down and came back up. He huffed and bent down to scoop the rest of belongings back into his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder once finished and picking up his guitar. "Don't you know you shouldn't take things without asking?"

"I'm just borrowing it," Tommy quipped. Tommy was busy doing various tricks with the yoyo, getting it to spin along the string and jiggle as it danced. He could take it back, but it's not like he needed it, besides, he felt like Tommy would enjoy it more than he did. His hand tightened around the strap of his guitar as he slung it around him to rest it on his back, shifting it so it could rest somewhat easily beside the backpack on his shoulder.

He couldn't forget. He wasn't human, he shouldn't even be anywhere near Tommy. 

"Let's go," he said and walked past Tommy, shoving the rock aside with his foot and letting the shelf roll out of place. He stepped outside and looked around as he waited for Tommy to join him. Today they would go to the school, scout the area to see what it's like, and hopefully use it as a hideout for a while, maybe find some good places to scavenge nearby. They would find the school and he'd work on finding Tommy's family.

"Hey, what's the rush, man?" Tommy fumbled out the door with the yoyo haphazardly wrapped around his wrist, jogging just a bit to match Wilbur's pace. Wilbur didn't pay him any mind, already focused on tracing the paths on the map and determining what would be the most efficient route. They could cut straight through, using the main streets and a few alleys when possible or necessary, but the main streets always had more zombies. It would be less time efficient but they could stick closer to the edge of the city's heart and then follow it until they got to the school. Either way, they would be heading in the north-west direction and would have to either cut through the heart of the city or walk around it. As much as the decision bothered him, it would be better to cut through the heart of the city despite the troubles they would most likely face.

Wilbur glanced over to Tommy, who was currently swearing and fumbling as he tried to untangle the yoyo from his hand.

At first he saw Tommy as just a child, which he was--a very annoying one at that--but he's realized Tommy is more capable than he seems. He wasn't as worried about Tommy fending for himself now, though he wouldn't complain if they could walk through zombie-free. Tommy could handle himself as long as they didn't get in over their heads, and he could take care of himself just fine. The idea of fighting zombies wasn't what was making his skin crawl, it was the idea that _he_ would be one of the zombies.

He was being irrational. Tommy wouldn't find out, there was no way for him to find out. He'd be careful. He wouldn't be one of those zombies chasing Tommy either, he was the one in control and he'd more likely off himself before he ever turned into something like that. Should they encounter trouble, they'd deal with it when it came, it was no use worrying about something he couldn't control, and there was no time to let his anxiety feed his irrationality. 

Things would work out one way or another as long as they were careful.

 _As long as he was careful_.

"Where are we going, Wil?"

"The school," he replied blandly, still trying to think of any possibilities. They could try to hotwire a car, though he may have to rely on Tommy for that and he didn't exactly like the idea. Maybe he should plan for emergencies then.

"How are we gonna get there?"

"Tommy, I'm trying to focus." Worst case would involve running into a horde too big for them to handle or safely maneuver around, which they would have to detour around as he didn't want to risk gaining their attention because the next worst thing would be them getting chased by said horde followed by Tommy being bitten. If Wilbur got bit it would be fine and he could find a way to work around it with Tommy here, he only needed to find Tommy's family first and then he could disappear so he could just play off the bite and pretend to develop symptoms until then.

"Ayy, we should find somewhere cool to explore, like an old apartment or something," Tommy began to ramble.

He didn't need this right now. "Tommy, can you just be quiet?" Tommy huffed but he did fall silent, becoming more intently focused on his yoyo which made a whirring sound every time it was dropped and bounced back up by the string. He knew logically the sound should be faint, likely barely above a whisper, yet the sound grated horrible against his ears, making him grit his teeth but keep his silence.

They walked through the streets and kept along the sidewalks, Wilbur silent as he thought and Tommy walking leisurely as he spun the yoyo even as his eyes darted from corner to corner and between each shadow. There were a few times they had to crouch down quietly to shuffle past a couple of ambling zombies but they had yet to truly reach the city's heart as of yet and hadn't encountered anything of significant danger. Cars were abandoned and windows were shattered and stained with dried blood, evidence from the panic and horror that came following the Blackout as people tried to escape the city only to become stranded and have to fight desperately against the zombies. He couldn't imagine waking up and finding the people once close to you either turned into mindless monsters or people you could no longer trust. Then again, he couldn't imagine much as when he awoke the place he first saw was desolate of life but the evidence of fights came in crimson stains and the evidence of death came from the littered corpses nearby. It was good while it lasted, despite the annoying sound of Tommy's yoyo, but eventually Tommy grew bored of the silence and started to speak up.

"Hey, Hey, Wil," Tommy chattered, tapping on Wilbur's shoulder repeatedly. "Wilbuuurrr," he drawled and leaned into Wilbur's side but Wilbur immediately stepped away.

He didn't stop fiddling with that yoyo, up and down, up and down, every time it was like the noise was screeching right next to his ears. Tommy's voice was _loud_ and it did nothing to ease the fog that was clouding his mind. They were already entering the heart of the city, it wouldn't be _too_ much longer, he just had to bear with it until then. Tommy stepped closer again and all Wilbur could focus on was the way his senses heightened and the sound only grew louder; If he had a beating heart, he was sure it would be worse than a drum in his chest or thunder in his ears. It was hard to focus on anything and so Wilbur stopped walking, not quite registering how Tommy stopped next to him as it became harder and harder to think. 

"Hey, why did you--"

Wilbur rounded on Tommy suddenly, grabbing him roughly by the neck of his shirt and looming over him as he yelled. "Just _shut up_ , Tommy! Just..." He froze just as he stared down at Tommy's wide eyes and the way he used one hand to grab Wilbur's wrist and the other... to grab his knife. Both of them stood still until Wilbur let go and stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets and promptly ignoring the way they trembled. It was much quieter now, so quiet in fact it was as though he was deaf... he hadn't really noticed how loud it was earlier, just that it was _loud,_ but it was only loud to him... 

He kept his hands in his pockets and shifted in place as Tommy stood hesitantly in front of him. Tommy wouldn't meet his eyes now, but he saw it just seconds ago. Fear. Tommy was-- Of course, _of course_ Tommy would be afraid, he just _grabbed_ him like some sort of... Like some sort of monster. His hands twitched and he clenched his fists; whether his nails dug painfully into his skin or not was of no importance to him. Tommy was fiddling with his knife in one hand, but even earlier he hadn't actually raised it against him. Wilbur glanced down and saw the yoyo on the pavement at Tommy's feet.

"Hey, I-" He sighed and took a breath to prepare his next words. "I'm sorry that was uh, uncalled for. I'm just... just a little stressed."

"Ah, yeah, I get it man, don't worry, don't worry," Tommy tried to laugh but the tight quality of his voice only made Wilbur want to shrink in on himself more. He'd thought that never having had a 'normal' interaction with people would have made him an oblivious fool in terms of socializing, but he was painfully aware of both the tension and the awkwardness of this situation.

This felt awful. Why did he do that? Why was he so tense? He didn't mean to, really, he just did it. He just lashed out without thinking.

His lips set into a thin line and he closed his eyes. Control. He breathed in and let it out as he opened his eyes. He was in control, the hunger wasn't even there right now. There was nothing to worry about.

"That was my fault for lashing out like that, but I would appreciate if we could be a bit more quiet today, just because we're entering the heart of the city and all," he said and waited for Tommy's response, watching the way Tommy's hand closed around his knife and slid it back in his pocket.

"Yeah, yeah... Sure," Tommy mumbled but at least he looked Wilbur in the eyes this time; Tommy seemed more wary than afraid now, he could deal with that, in all reality he deserved it. Really, Tommy shouldn't trust him at all. Tommy glanced around and found the yoyo, bending down stiffly to pick it up and shove it in his pocket.

Wilbur was the one to take the first step, continuing the way they were going. He walked slower and heard Tommy's steps fall in behind him; the sounds weren't as loud anymore.

"When we find a safe spot again, I'll play you a song," he said as he looked forward, scanning the road ahead to where it kept going and turned left. He didn't immediately see anything but he thought he saw movement in the dark windows of a shop further up, across the street.

"Really? Man, if that's all it takes I should have done this sooner," Tommy joked and even smiled a bit when Wilbur huffed a laugh. The tension had ebbed away to some extent, and by now they were walking in a silence that was more or less comfortable, well, as comfortable as it could be when Tommy pointed to the movement he thought he saw earlier. They had to take the street to the left and so they quickly made their way across, careful as to not alert whatever was inside the shop and draw unwanted attention.

"Hey, Wil?"

He hummed in reply, examining the map in hand.

"You're pretty weirdchamp, y'know?"

He laughed, the sound breathy and short, and tucked the map in his right pocket; he hadn't taken his other hand from his pocket as of yet. "Yeah, alright."

"Yeah, you're kinda weird, but... Well, thanks, I guess, but don't think you're all cool just because I said thanks! I just... felt like I needed to say that, and _maybe_ sorry, just maybe, but remember you're not cool," Tommy huffed and dragged the yoyo from his pocket. The sound didn't bother him anymore.

"Sure, Tommy. And thanks to you, too." He's already made a number of mistakes since waking up, and he just made another one, but maybe helping Tommy and staying with him wasn't one of them. Yeah. It was rough, and he was scared of what he might do if things spiralled out of control, but maybe just for a little while, things would work out and he would remember this in a good light when they separated. 

They'd be fine. He'd make things work until Tommy found his family.

He'd stay in control

"What the fuck do we do now?" Tommy hissed from where they were hiding under a reception desk.

"Quiet," Wilbur hushed.

The sound of a zombie groaning broke the silence, followed by a chorus echoing it and the sound of zombies dragging their feet across the floor as they now wandered the empty lobby. There were twelve zombies, more if they were really unlucky. He should've known, he should've felt it in the way the air was too silent, _unnaturally_ silent, or the way they saw no danger despite traversing the city's heart. It was just a small misstep, Tommy darting around a corner too quickly and bumping into a trash can, sending it to the ground with a loud crash that seemingly summoned the zombies who rushed out from the surrounding shops, apparently holed up within. Initially there had been more, one of them bursting out from a door and trying to attack Wilbur only to be stabbed in the head by Tommy as they started running; Wilbur had to use his guitar to knock a zombie aside, discarding it along the way as it had caved in on itself.

Contrary to what Tommy had talked about earlier, bringing up how before the Blackout, zombies in movies were always slow, the real zombies could keep their pace well enough to give more than most a shock. It was never a good idea to try to outrun zombies, because the thing about them was that while they may stumble, they didn't need to rest.

The same held true for Wilbur, but Tommy on the other hand... 

They ran until they spotted a tall building, maybe a popular company building at one point, and darted inside. They used whatever they could in the lobby to block the door, a sofa and small armchair really, and tried the elevator just to try their luck. It didn't work. They chose to hide behind the desk when the zombies slammed into the door, pounding on it relentlessly and violently until it broke down within moments, sending the rushing zombies tumbling over the sofa.

Now the zombies were inside with them, hunting them as they searched the lobby. It was in a sense that zombies were not exactly intelligent, rather mindless as they didn't think in the same complex way humans did that allowed them to problem solve and investigate places other humans would recognize as 'hiding places'. It was this lack of complex intelligence that probably allowed many people to live as long as they have, surviving on strokes of luck as they hid in barely concealed places and waited with bated breath; if they were truly lucky, the zombie may not have eyes or be relatively blind or deaf to the world around it, though not always was it the case. Unfortunately for them, the chances of each zombie being blind was essentially zero.

He tensed when the sound of a zombie hissed overhead, just above the desk they were hiding under. He made eye contact with Tommy and they both held their breath as they waited. Tommy clutched his knife in both hands, ready to spring up at any moment, clearly tense and yet Wilbur couldn't find fear in his eyes; Tommy was strong, stronger than Wilbur in the sense that he could hold himself high even when nervous or afraid. Brave, maybe that was the right word.

Any moment that zombie would find them, and all other zombies in this room would lock onto them like rabid hounds.

He would survive, but he knew how the rest of it would play out. If he was brave, maybe he'd try to use himself as bait, but for some reason his legs wouldn't move. Even now, he couldn't even admit to anything, whether it be his lies and his horrid truth, or the fact that maybe some part inside him saw Tommy as someone stronger than he was, _better_ than he was, _human_.

They heard scraping and the desk creaked ominously with the weight of something shifting on top of it. They could only watch as a shadow loomed over the edge of the desk and grew larger and more defined into the shape of a head as the zombie leaned forward. It would find them, and from there it would be over.

It would be over for Tommy, not him. He felt sick, like he wanted to puke. He wanted right now more than ever to be human, even if just to die, at least that way he wouldn't have to live with the guilt. He wouldn't have to continue with the pain.

The zombie let out a drawn out noise that sounded somewhere between a hiss and a screech, low and breathy and utterly eerie to the point of wanting to bolt up on his own. He stayed frozen still, he couldn't even look over at Tommy anymore. He saw a few drops of blood fall down and saw a pale chin. This was it. 

_This was it._

Tommy shifted and brought his knife up, ready to attack as soon as he could see the zombies head, but instead he jolted harshly alongside Wilbur as a shrill sound pierced the air and was quickly rolled by a series of loud bangs. The zombie let out a screech but rather than diving under to attack them, it reared back and they heard as they stumbled through the lobby. They waited until the zombie's footsteps echoed out of earshot and listened as the explosions continued from somewhere outside, not very far if Wilbur had to guess. Wilbur sat still, clutching his backpack in front of him as Tommy slowly inched forward. 

Get a grip.

Wilbur moved to follow Tommy and peaked over the desk, standing and motion to Tommy that it was safe.

Control.

Tommy stood and Wilbur caught the tail-end of his gasp. "Fireworks..?"

"We should go while they're distracted," he said and Tommy was quick to nod and take a few steps forward alongside him until Wilbur stopped and threw one arm in front of Tommy.

"Wait! Wait!" A figure clad in a large, dark sweater with the hood thrown over their face stepped into view from outside, half hidden behind the sofa. They had their hands in the air. 

"Who are you?" He demanded and the figure fumbled for their hood, sliding it down to reveal the face of a boy; his face on the left side was a faintly peach colour and his face on right side was a darker colour, skin almost black but with a hue of rich brown, the darker side of his face met the peach in the middle in the form of splotchy patches. The boy managed his way around the sofa through a spot where the zombies had pushed it aside and approached them slowly, stopped when Wilbur glared at him. The boy raised his hands and Wilbur could see how his right eye was a coppery-brown and his left eye was an unnaturally bright green.

"The fuck do you want?" Tommy spat and pushed down Wilbur's arm, raising his knife instead.

The boy visibly flinched back and struggled for a moment until he tried to straighten himself and speak with confidence.

"I'm here to help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Test tomorrow? Perhaps. Did I write this instead? Maybe...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> This is my first time writing a fanfic, or really sharing my writing at all, so any feedback is welcome!  
> Pardon any mistakes in grammar or anything else.  
> I'll try to update periodically when I can, and whenever I feel in the writing mood, but I am currently an IB student doomed to write their finals soon so if it takes a while please spare me.


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